Sacred Scarlet
by SnowyOne
Summary: A tale of how one young priestess by the name of Sally Whitemane rose through the ranks to become the High Inquisitor of the Scarlet Crusade. Rated T for violence.
1. Chapter 1

_I apologize in advance for any informalities. This is the first story I have published here on Fanfiction and, thusly, I am new to this. About a year or two ago, I became a member of a online mass-crossover role-play site called 'Celestial Refresh'. While on that site, I created the following story concerning one of the characters I had chosen to introduce to the world. The High Inquisitor of the Scarlet Crusade, Sally Whitemane. _

_I left the site a while ago, but this story is one I particularly liked. I thusly chose to publish it here and see how well it is received. This is not the entire story, as I have chosen to release it only one segment at a time. Hopefully I will be able to release a new segment once a week until the story is finished. Please, constructive criticism (pointing out what is wrong, why it is an issue, and explaining how to make it better) and reviews are appreciated and desired._

Sixty four recruits stood outside of the Scarlet Cathedral, the chief and prime wing of the four wings of the Scarlet Monastery. Before them, the massive doors to the inner sanctum of the Scarlet Crusade lay; their place of worship and dedication, holiness and devotion to the light. This was the hallowed land, one of the last bastions of humanity and life within what had once been the kingdom of Lordaeron.

Before the recruits and surrounding them stood over a hundred members of the Crusade, all of which had already passed their initiation ages ago. However, today was the day that these sixty four would prove themselves.

"Recruits!" called out a crisp voice. Standing in front of the door, flanked on either side by two of the other leaders of the Crusade, stood their leader. Grand Crusader Saidan Dathrohan. The Grand Crusader was an elder man, his hair already white with age. Or was that its natural color? Throughout the one hundred and sixty six people gathered within the Cathedral grounds, there were two people who possessed the hair coloring. The first being the Grand Crusader, and the second being a young priestess, placed in the fifth row of the recruits, recruit number 36, Sally Whitemane.

At the Grand Crusaders side stood two other people, both men. The first was a brown haired, kind-looking paladin whom radiated justice and purity in the very air around him. It was almost as if he had stepped out of a childs tale. There he stood, clad in crimson and white armor, looking every bit the heroic paladin that he should. He was the Highlord Taelan Fordring, a man holy and virtuous.

The second was fatherly looking priest. A calm, quieting, assuring smile was upon his face. His hair, black as soot, had been shaven off in the familiar and common style of the monk. Everything about him seemed unhostle, friendly. Even the fiery red scarlet armor seemed dimmed down and inviting, like the fires of the nightly hearth. Many knew him well as the High Inquisitor Fairbanks, the leader of the priestly branch of the Scarlet Crusade.

"You have all been gathered, all come from distant parts of Azeroth. Some of you from the lands of Westfall." He said, pointing to the third row in. "Some of you from the shattered, broken lands of Hillsbrad," he swept his hand out over Whitemane's own row.

As he did so, Whitemane's chest swelled with pride. Her homeland was indeed shattered. Durnholde keep was gone, destroyed by the savage orc Thrall. Alterac, the only nation that had stood between them and Lordaeron when the Scourge had arrived, had long since been turned derelict by the orcish Horde during the Second War when they had turned traitor and sided with the monsters. Yet, with no defenses and no training, Whitemane's people had survived. They had fended off the monsters with little more then farming implements, and had succeeded. Whitemane herself, blessed by the light, had slaughtered several undead by herself already.

"And… Some of you whom have seen the plague first hand, lost your homes, your farms, your lands to the plague, fully and entirely." He said, pointing to the very first row, and then continuing to list and label where each row of soldiers had come from.

"Today… You get to draw your first blood." He said, tongue sliding over his lips. "As many of you know, I was once a knight of the Silver Hand. A paladin of Lothar. He would not approve of what I am about to do, and he is dead! This is not the Silver Hand! This is the Scarlet Crusade! There are sixty four of you now, and by the time I am finished, there will be thirty two bodies upon the ground. They can come from either you recruits, or from the hundred gathered to test you. It matters not. What does matter is this. Those of you who survive will be secluded from the world for thirty days. If you show and sign of being possessed by the plague, you shall die. If you survive that, then you will be admitted as the lowest rank of our order. If there are any of you who feel that you will die, leave now." He said firmly.

Throughout the ranks, there was a collected and universal quiver and shaking in fear. This man, their leader, he held power. He held might. And he was vicious. Even Whitemane gulped slightly, gripping the basic healing staff she had been assigned tightly. She had fought undead, monsters and horrors, but would she slay her fellow man?

"Now… Begin." Said the Grand Crusader. The moment he said so, the one hundred gathered drew their weapons and stepped forwards, seeking to fall upon the gathered recruits with frenzied bloodlust.

"Hold it together men!" called out Whitemane as the crusaders advanced upon the gathered recruits. Though she held no official standing as the leader of the smaller force, the courtyard outside the Cathedral was one narrow step short from becoming a field of blood and battle. No one was about to question what seemed to be a decent plan. "All those with heavy shields, form up around those without! Form a protective barrier! All archers and mages, focus your fire on the left side! Break through there and we turn to face the rest!" she yelled out.

The battle was joined in almost an instant as soon as she finished giving her commands. The sound of sword on metal filled the air as the shield of the recruit soldiers met that of the trained and tempered steel of the hardened soldiers. A heavy hail of arrow and fireball pounded down on those crusaders who were to the collective left of the group, forcing them to part and leaving several dead in their wake.

"MOVE" screamed Whitemane, gripping her staff firmly, a holy light glowing along the length of the shaft as she charged forwards at those few whom still remained. One of the soldiers, a scarred veteran of one of the prior wars, drew his sword and charged at Whitemane, the sword held ready to stab the priestess through and through. Whitemane's eyes shot wide open in pain as the sword cut through her side, leaving a long and bloody gash in her flank. She did not scream out, even though the pain burned through her body like a savage fire. Instead, she gritted her teeth in pain as she swung her staff about, smashing the head of the wooden shaft into the back of the soldiers head This caused the releasing the magical energy stored inside the staff and caused holy magic to smite the man who had attacked her, ripping into his body and slashing though the bone in a powerful magical assault.

The man fell to the ground, screaming in horrible, blood-curing pain as he felt his body being rent asunder by the very light he worshiped. A second soldier dared to try his luck against Whitemane. She saw his assault coming however and called upon the light, forming it into a shield that protected her body. His sword glanced off the divine barrier, sparking into the wall. Whitemane wasted neither time nor mercy with the man, instead calling upon that righteous fury which she knew well. Holy fire. The divine flames, burning with a pure and holy light from on high, poured down from the sky, setting the man ablaze with the divine fury and wrath. He screamed in the pain and suffering of the damned, rolling about on the stone floor. Such a commoners tactic would have worked on ordinary flames, but not Holy Fire. The divine flames would keep burning no matter how much dirt was thrown upon them.

With those two out of the way, and whatever men had dared to stay having been dealt with by the raw fervor of the recruits and lying dead upon the ground, those whom were still alive could now turn their fight outwards, safe from assault from behind now that they had the wall upon their back.

BRRRRRRUUUUUUUUUUNNNNNNN!

The sound of a heavy rams horn filled the air. Instantly, those crusaders whom had been fighting with the recruits backed off, keeping their swords ready to deal with the more fervent ones.

"That's enough! Thirty three bodies by my count." Bellowed out the High Crusader. He rammed the head of his mace into the ground firmly. "Twenty of them were your fellow men, recruits. Men who fought, whom desired, whom lusted for the same thing as you. To see your lands freed from the blight of the Scourge. Yet look at how quickly they died, how quickly they became the fodder for what we despise the most. We do not tolerate fodder for the enemy! All whom die so easily want to die. Those of you whom survived shall be secluded from the world for thirty days. A final test to assure us that you are not of the blight." He said, turning about and shoving the massive doors open, his two compatriots beside him.

"Did you see that Fordring!" exclaimed the High Crusader as he closed the massive doors behind him as soon as all three were inside. "Thirteen of our men! Not the highest, but still higher then most!"

"High Crusader, with all due respect." Spoke the paladin. "While you have your little… blood spot… Neither I nor Fairbanks need to find the same pleasure out of our own men killing themselves as you do."

"Indeed." Said the High Inquisitor, sighing greatly and rubbing his brow stressfully. "If pains me greatly to lose thirty three good men to these bloodbaths."

"Bah! You two are such sops! But did you see that young priestess lass?" said the High crusader, slapping Fairbanks on the back heartily and sending the priest almost toppling to the ground. "She managed to get a plan together quickly, and it was a decent one too! To top it off, she slew two of our own AND called upon that divine fire of yours!"

"Indeed, she is an… interesting girl." Said Fairbanks. "Sally Whitemane was her name… When her month of seclusion is over, send her too me. I may have, at last, found a disciple of my own. It's been far too long since I had one." He said, giving a heavy sigh. "Inquisitor Whitemane…" he tried the name out. "Give her enough time, and she might just make High Inquisitor and take over for me. Ahhh… Retirement. Bliss…" he said, sighing as the trio retreated deeper into the cathedral.


	2. Chapter 2

The surviving recruits from the battle out in the courtyard were soon surrounded by twenty or so guards and jailors, each of them quickly and crudely grabbing one, in some cases two, of those recruits whom had survived the battle. Whitemane was no exception to this rule as her wrist was seized by a thick and powerful hand of a heavily armored jailor; almost snapping her hand in half with the sheer force and power of his grip. Yet, Whitemane neither screamed or grimaced in pain or suffering as he yanked her along deeper and deeper into the Scarlet Monastery. This was what she had dreamed of! For quite some time now, Southshore, and the world, had been suffering under the vice of undeath.

As of now, Southshore remained one of three safe havens still under the command of the Alliance within the north. The other two, the ruined mage nation of Dalaran and the kingdom of Gilanas had already broken all official ties with the Alliance as well. Southshore was, effectively, the Alliance's ONLY city now within the northlands. And how had they treated the city that was now the only thing that remained of their forces in the north? Like crap! Throughout the entire city, there was not a single human being whom was paid by the Alliance coffers and even remotely effective. Less then ten soldiers could be found within the city limits, and all of them only cowered down along the port and shorelines, fighting off the few Murlocs and Naga that dared to enter the city limits. Otherwise, they spent all their time at the bar, drinking their days away and trying to swoon the women with drunken charm.

The Crusade, however, was different. They had not given in to the Plauge. They had not faltered in the face of death. They had done the opposite and thrived! Any and all bastions of human power in the north belonged to them! They had cut through the heart of the undead with their castle of command sitting in the midst of the plague, defying them to attack. This is where Whitemane belonged! She was sure of it!

Even as she entered into a long hallway, lined with heavy steel doors on either side for the sole purpose of observing those whom had passed the first test to ensure they were not of the Scourge, she remained positive that she would pass. This was her fate. This was her destiny! The guard took her down to her own cell and threw her inside, locking the steel door behind her. Whitemane would not be allowed to leave this cell for the next thirty days. The room was no different then a prison cell. A small cot of hay lay against the wall on one side and a small window, barred and out of reach, provided the only source of illumination within the cell.

In one corner a small pile of books, wrapped with string and twine, sat with a small letter waiting on top of it. Whitemane sighed and picked the letter up, pacing about the confines of the cell as she did so. With her fingernail, she broke the wax seal and opened it up, letting the beautiful lettering and handwriting become visible for her to see as she opened the letter up.

A split second later, she folded it closed and tossed it aside. We all have our own shames, and Whitemane was no different. While she had attended the lacking and under-staffed school in Southshore as a child, her grades in all area's had been horrendous. Though she could read, it would have been on par with a child no older then seven years of age. The flowing and lovely script, carefully shaped and formed with a practiced hand, might as well have been Orcish to her. It was something too difficult for her to read and the words too complex to understand. She undid the knot on the small pile of books that held the twine binding in place, and picked up the first book, closing it soon and then moving on to the second. Sorting them into two separate piles for those she could, and could not, read.

Before long, Whitemane grew accustomed to the conditions of the cell. The small window of light marked her only way of knowing day from night, and she cherished it's comfort. Every day, she would lay down and let the warm, soft, glow of the sun cover and warm her as she read those few books that were simple enough for her to read. From time to time, she would hear screams of pain and suffering, the shouts and bellows of men calling upon the power of demons, coming from the cells further down the rows. Men whom were spies, flushed out of hiding by the confinement. Every day, the voices and complaints grew less and less. Before the first week was over, Whitemane would only hear about one cry for the help of a demon every other day or so.

Days came and went. Thirty days can seem like an awful long time when the only form of mental distraction is a small pile of less then seven books. Whitemane even found it within herself to try and muscle up and read those books that were too difficult for her to understand, but failed in spectacular glory and ended up slamming the difficult books against the walls in fits of rage and frustration. Every morning at exactly eight, a small tray of food was shoved under the door containing a apple, two grapefruits, and a small loaf of bread. At every night, once again exactly at eight, the exact same meal would be shoved in once again. At six A.M. the light from the small window would shine down and wake Whitemane up, and once again at 8 P.M. it would fade away and allow her to get to sleep.

On the thirteenth day, however, things started to change. As soon as the sun went down that day, the heavy pacing of two sets of boots upon stone flooring filled the hallways. One of the two halves of the grapefruit lay empty of its succulent fruit on the floor and the second half was busy being gnawed on by Whitemane. It wasn't dinner time for sure. Even locked within her cell, Whitemane was far from stupid or ignorant enough to at least suspect what was going on. Her suspicions were more then confirmed when the men stopped in front of her cell and the soft jingle of coin being passed from hand to hand followed by the unlatching of the heavy steel door to permit entrance confirmed her suspicions.

The heavy door swung inwards. Inside the frame of the door was a fat, ugly, hideous ogre! No… Whitemane squinted her eyes a bit, focusing on the worthless pile of flesh in front of her. It was a… orc? No… A man. A man with massive rolls of flesh and skin covering his belly. His face looked like it had been kicked by a horse, reformed by a blind gorilla, then smashed by the horse yet again. His hands were… like overheated sausages; lumpy and rotund with festering sores that held puss oozing out of several warts. The warts covered his entire body… A body that Whitemane was, sadly, given the 'pleasure' of seeing in it's entirety as the man had dis-robed himself before entering the cell. Whitemane could do little but stare at the man; the grapefruit skin dangling from her mouth as she stared in revulsion at the swine!

"Hey there pretty!" His voice was like a chorus of devilish hounds; choking and uneven as he almost barked out the words. The man stepped inside the cell, easily taking up half if the space with his girth. His hand reached forwards to cradle Whitemane's chin, knocking the grapefruit to the floor as he did so.

"My my… You are a pretty one. You will sing well for me. Sing like a little canary!" he said, smiling and revealing a row of teeth that… Well… Whitemane hated to give points to her despised foes; but it seemed that the undead at least had a dental plan, unlike this man.

"If you dare to even try to rape me." Cautioned Whitemane. "I will call down so much heavenly fury and wrath that not even the dust of your bones will be left to blow across Azeroth."

"Ohh! Some fight in you! Just like the other girls in the-"

At that very moment, any compassion Whitemane had for the man vanished in a fury of rage at the suggestion that the man had had a chance to reproduce even once! Her foot came up in a sudden and sharp smash to the man's knee, shattering the bone of the kneecap. The man screamed in and and fell to the ground, cradling his knee and howling in pain. Whitemane stepped forwards, her stiletto shoe coming down hard on the mans neck.

"You're pathetic." She said, her voice devoid of mercy. "I feel defiled by even letting you cradle my chin. I feel defiled even now, with your pathetic neck under my foot! How the light manages to allow someone like you to even exist is beyond me. Light! Head my call! This man has assaulted one of your maidens with the intent to defile her body and soul!" screamed out Whitemane, her hands glowing with the soft light of divinity as she sought the power of the holy and cleansing light to pour down upon this man, cleansing his filth from the earth.

From the ceiling of the cell, a bright and divine light shone. The air within the small space became heated as the cell became fully illuminated with the blazing light. Holy fire poured down from above, covering both Whitemane and the man in a scalding fury! The man underfoot screamed in an unholy pain as the fire burned into his flesh, burning skin and filling the whole of the dungeon with the putrid scent of charred flesh. Whitemane stood in the fire as well, but it did not burn her. The flames barely even warmed her flesh as they scoured the cell, burning away every last particle of the man.

"The light has spoken." She said coldly.

Whitemane kicked the bones aside in disgust; sweeping them out of her cell and closing the door again. That morning, there came a scream of shock from the guardsman as Whitemane slept peacefully in her cell. Even in the soft embrace of sleep, she smiled as the man screamed in shock and surprise.

Ten more days passed without sign of incident. Every day, Whitemane would get the same meal, same time as always. It was almost as if nothing had happened at all. The books she could read became work and unbound, their pages falling out and covering the floor. Every step the young priestess took would sweep the pages up like snow upon the ground, scattering them about and making it impossible to know where they had fallen again.

On the tenth day, however, as the sun went down again, Whitemane once again heard the heavy sound of two pairs of boots walking down the row of cells. This time, however, the guardsman graced his companion with a name as he, once again, opened the door to Whitemane's cell.

"High Crusader. The priestess, as you requested." Said the guard, bowing respectfully as he let Saidan Dathrohan, the High Crusader, into Whitemane's cell. The thick, imposing figure of the man filled the cell almost from wall to wall and from floor to ceiling. His massive hands gripped a oversized mace with a strong grip. He turned to the guard and handed him his mace.

"Leave us alone." He said to the guard. "And no matter what you hear, you do not come running to her call. Only mine. Understand?" he asked, his powerful voice cowering even Whitemane into submission.

"Y-Yes High Crusader." Uttered the guard, bowing low to the ground and closing the door behind him before he scurried back down the hallway, leaving Whitemane at the crusaders mercy.

Whitemane looked the man up and down. Unlike the first, the high crusader was physically appealing. Strong and mighty, with a smooth and rippling chest and massive arms and legs. Even the PG-13+ bits seemed to be large and strong. Whitemane licked her lips and gulped softly at the appealing man.

"I-I'm sorry High Crusader." She said, bowing her head. "Did you wish something of this humble priestess?"

The High Crusader smiled softly at Whitemane, laughing softly as she spoke. "Oh. You don't need to worry. I'm not about to molest you or rape you." He said calmly. "The High Inquisitor has taken a liking to you, Sally. A very… watchful liking. He wants you to be his apprentice."

Whitemane's jaw dropped with surprise. It was true that she had expected to grow within the Crusade, but Inquisitor? That was more then she expected. She bowed once again, stammering in awe. "I-I shall do my b-best to live up!"

Once again, the High Inquisitor laughed. "You are powerful Sally. You are strong in the light. You can call forth the divine flames to pour down upon your foes. I can sense it from you. You can summon forth the light to shield and protect, to heal… To bring life back into the bodies of those whom have even felt the kiss of death. You are powerful Whitemane."

Even though it was late at night, light still filled the cell from the moon and stars. However, as the High Crusader spoke, that little amount of light that flowed in through the window vanished, casting the cell into an almost total darkness.

"Almost too powerful… You will grow Whitemane. Grow in the ways of light… I am sure of that…"

Within the darkness, the High Inquisitor no longer looked like the man he was. Instead… He had seemed to grow even more. A feat thought impossible considering the size of the cell. The white coloring of his uniform melted and shimmered, turning into ashen white skin while the bright crimson dimmed and spread out like ink spilled across a page. The darkness swirled around the man, forming into a pair of massive, bat-like wings.

"Demon… You… You are a… Demon… A dreadlord." Muttered Whitemane under her breath. She looked on in shock as the High Inquisitor turned abut, revealing his true face. No longer the strong and attractive human face, but a ashen white face with cracked lips, pure white eyes, and a pair of massive curved horns sprouting from his forehead.

"DEMON!" screamed Whitemane. Her stay within the cells of the Crusade, the cries of those whom had called forth the names of demons, begging them for mercy, it fit together almost perfectly! Sally's hands glowed a soft white as her face became one of disgust. "You… You are a being of darkness. A creature of evil! You deserve no mercy, and shall be shown none! With the light as my ally, you will stand no chance against me! Feel now the fury and wrath of the divine!" she said calmly, secure in her victory. No darkness could stand before her wrath!

As she called upon the light, however, the demon made no move to stop her. In fact, he simply stood back, laughing softly at her. Once again, as before, the divine fires and flames poured down and into the room. But there was no illumination. Whatever light that had been formed by the divine flames was swallowed by the darkness of the dreadlord's being. The flame poured out upon the floor, lighting the pages and books on fire. Fire danced across the body of the demonic monster, but he seemed not to notice one bit.

"Oh Sally…" said the demon, laughing softly. "You are powerful, but too young. Too weak to harm me even with your holy flames and cause." He shook himself, waves of darkness rolling off his form and extinguishing the fires that burning on his flesh and that covered the floor. Sally looked on in horror at the demon. She had been afraid in her life before; but this was no fear. This was terror! The demon flexed his hand open and reached forwards. Within the narrow confines of the cell, Whitemane was unable to dodge to the left or right. She was caught. Captured by the walls as the massive hand closed around her chin, stroking her cheek with massive, pointed, claw-like hands.

"Oh Sally…" said the demon, mockingly. "You will grow… Yes… But not in the way you expected. Yes, you will grow in the ways and manner of the light. But I shall ween you upon my power. The darkness, the fury, all that is unpure within you; that will grow within you as well. Pain and healing, suffering and justice, death and life. You will grow into all these things. You shall grow to become my servant. My own little High Inquisitor to replace that weak and pathetic priest whom stands at my side now."

The darkness around Whitemane pulled together, forming into the near perfect shape of Whitemane by the power of the demon. Her skin was dark, and her eyes white. She was the perfect inverse of Whitemane's true form, a darkness to her light. The new Whitemane reached forwards, placing her hand softly on Whitemane's cheek.

"For every step closer to the light you take, your shadow will grow in power as well. She will guide you, control you along my path. Together, you shall serve as my tools of destruction. The hammer to smash the undead, and all whom stand in my way be they angel, demon, or mere man."

The eyes of the shadow Whitemane flew wide open as dark flames erupted from Whitemane's eyes. Both women screamed in pain as the shadow burned within Whitemane. It flowed into her, merging and becoming part of her. Whitemane fell to the ground, gasping for breath. Her insides burned in a unholy pain!

"Now…" said the dreadlord. "Forget." He said simply, and the darkness within Whitemane complied and Whitemane forgot. Forgot the presence of the powerful demon whom stood before her, forgot the man whom had come to her ten days before with intent to fill his mind with pleasure, and forgot the seed of darkness implanted within her, filling her with dark power. The only thing she could recall of her thirty days within the cell was the echoing laugh of a power and un-named monster. A monster… she could not recall.


	3. Chapter 3

_OOC (OOS?): Hello everyone. I want to keep these segments where I am posting as short as possible so as to not distract from the main story. Firstly, while as of this posting, I have only four reviews, of which three have given very good advise. I am taking the constructive criticism to heart, I assume you, and plan to use it when I start to write again. However, the story that you are reading now was made a while ago on a different site. I have chosen to keep the original story intact as much as possible, bad grammar included, out of respect for the original. The next segment (after this one) should be the last of the original story, however, and hopefully as I work to expand it beyond the original scope, I will be able to show that I respect the advise and am trying to follow it._

_Secondly, I am not intending to end this story soon. I am currently planning to drastically increase the length of the original story beyond the original five-section piece it originally was (I combined 2 and 3 last chapter due to 3 being too short as it only dealt with Whitemane and the High Crusader). I have much respect for the public who choose to read stories and have personally been highly aggravated in the past with stories that have been suddenly dropped with no warning and do not plan to do the same with this. Even if I miss a week, I promise I will give the story a proper ending marked clearly for all to see. With that, enjoy!_

One year had passed since the day Whitemane had left the confines of her prison cell. One year since she had joined the ranks of the Scarlet Crusade as the young and powerful apprentice of High Inquisitor Fairbanks. Now nineteen years of age, Whitemane was a different woman from the raw recruit of only a year ago. Gone were the simple robes and garb of a fresh, innocent, soul, replaced by the Crimson red body suit and tabard of a higher ranked priestess of the Crusade. Woven into the front of her tabard in thread of gold by the finest of the tailors within the crusade, stitched together with needle so fine that it could not be controlled by hand and, instead, had to be carefully guided through it's loops by the spells of a magician, was golden wings and form of the divine beings of heaven. An angel, who's light shone down the tabard to its very hem, as if shining upon the dirt under her foot.

It was a huge step up from the simple white and red garb of the common soldier and priest. A sign of superiority and power. Something that commanded the attention of those same soldiers who wore only the common robes who flanked either side of the young priestess now. They were kneeling before her, their hands clasped together in whispered prayer as Whitemane stood at their front, standing tall.

Gone was the hallowed halls of the monastery where she had spent the past year training and learning under the tutelage of High Inquisitor Fairbanks. Gone was the massive stone walls and cathedral pillars that towered high overhead, overwhelming and filling the very soul of the priestess to the point of overflowing with the power of their majesty.

Now, in its place, a simple tent of cloth with the scarlet emblem of the Crusade painted upon the canvas siding served as the spiritual center of the Crusade. The once hallowed halls had been emptied, nearly evacuated with every man, woman, and child that could lift a sword having been brought along. At long last, the Crusade had its chance to oust the undead from Lordaeron, and they did not intend to fail.

When the Scourge had first appeared upon the lands of Azeroth, several cities had quickly and quietly fallen into the plague of undeath. It had moved quietly throughout the lands, carried by shipments of infested grains that were spread among the towns and cities of the North until, at last, they had accumulated within the city of Stratholme. Despite the best efforts of those few whom knew of the infested grains, the city had fallen almost overnight to the plague of the undead. Now, it served as one of the two centers of the undead within Azeroth. The once proud city, as mighty as the pure white bastions of Stormwind far to the south whom now served as the sole center for humanity within the eastern lands, was now over-run with the undead monsters. To take it back, it would be the single greatest blow possible to the Scourge.

As of now, the Crusade had mobilized in its entirety to smash into the city and reclaim it. Now, the force of zealots stood encamped outside of a small chapel nestled just outside of the undead city that had been dubbed 'Light's Hope'. The sole remaining member of the cloth within the chapel, a young woman named Jessica Chambers, had refused to allow the Crusade use of the building. Normally, the Crusade would have simply smashed its was inside the building and taken it over, killing Chambers in the process if she resisted. However, the High Crusader had struck a deal with the woman. The Crusade would be allowed to use the chapel, but only for the leaders to discuss strategy. The rest of the crusade, however would be prohibited from entering. Any member seeking to commune with the light for prayer before the battle had come to a special tent for such purposes. A purpose that Whitemane intended to ensure was fulfilled.

Whitemane strode down the center isle of the chapel tent, her hands spread out to each side and softly touching the heads of each member of the Crusades head as she repeated, from memory, prayers that Fairbanks had taught her.

"The Light is my guardian, I shall desire no more. It shall lead me unto the unplauged lands, and it shall guide me to the clear-flowing waters. It shall restore my soul from the darkness and guide me down the path of vengeance in the holy name of the Light. Even though I stride through the land infested with undeath, I shall not fear them, for the light is with me. The sword and the healing of the light shall be my sanctuary. Our tables will be filled with the blessings of the holy, even though monsters rage around us. We have been chosen for the light, and we will follow its call as it blesses us. Holiness and Justice will follow us upon our path, and the Light shall reign over Azeroth for ever."

Her words were well practiced, carrying with them the tone of confidence within her faith. The faith she believed would carry her, along with the rest of the Crusade, to drive the undead menace from her homeland once and for all. She passed down the aisle twice more, reciting prayers in earnest to guide the men upon the path of the Light.

The service was over but a few moments later as the men filed out of the tent. As soon as the last one had left, Sally took a deep breath… and left it out in a sloppy sigh as she collapsed to the ground, her legs and arms spread out wide in exhaustion.

"Sally? Sally Whitemane?" a older male voice came from outside the tent. The calm and fatherly tone told the priestess instantly whom it was. She took a deep breath before she sat upright.

"Yes Father Fairbanks?" she asked, answering in a respectful tone. The older man entered into the tent. Just as when she had first seen the man a year ago, on the day she had joined the crusade, the man was garbed in the red and golden robes of a High Inquisitor. His black hair, still cut in the style of a proper monk, had remained unchanged as had almost every manner of his body. Fairbanks smiled softly and walked over to the young priestess, offering her his hand.

"Just stopping by to see how my little apprentice is doing." He said, rubbing her hair softly with his free hand as Whitemane grabbed his other hand and pulled herself into a standing position.

"I'm doing just fine father." She said with a soft sigh. A moment later, a soft kiss came down upon the very top of her head. Whitemane looked up at the holy father, a confused look on her face. She enjoyed the company of the man indeed, but had always viewed him as a father or teacher. Not something she would associate a kiss with.

"Father, what was that?" she started, confused. The elder man laughed slightly as he rubbed her shoulders softly and in a friendly manner.

"Sally. You've grown strong in the light, my dear. So very strong." Said the elder calmly. After a moment, he sighed softly and stepped outside of the chapel tent, Whitemane following right behind him. Outside of the tent, hundreds upon hundreds of tents lay splayed out in perfect rank and file. Weapon racks lined the passages between the tents, their wares visible for all to see. Many of the soldiers were busy, readying themselves for battle.

"The battle won't be long now." Said Fairbanks. "We only need the marching order from the High Crusader and we march. Sally. The Light has been strange. For three years now, almost three years, it has been distant from me. I've been able to ignore it so far, to find the guidance I need within its radiance, but it's fading. Now, as I look out over this camp, I can't help but sense that a shadow has fallen upon our order."

"No." said Whitemane. "Don't say such things! We're a strong order! The light favors us! We have driven back the undead time and time again! We've smashed through their holds and barriers time and time again. Where once there was only death, we've sown life!"

"Of course. That's not what I meant. I have no doubt that the light will prevail. It always has in the past, and will once again. But Sally… The Crusade has grown dim to me. Sally, my time is coming soon. I know it. It might even come before this battle is over."

Whitemane looked at her master, her eyes wide in shock and horror. "Don't say such things! The light is our power! Our bastion! Those strong in the light will never fall into the shadows! You are stronger then me! Far stronger! The Light hums and sings within you. You cannot fall to this… undeath!"

The High Inquisitor looked at his young charge, shaking his head in a sad manner. It was clear he did not agree with what his young charge said just now. "Oh Sally. All this time and effort. Have you really learned nothing? You still do not understand. Maybe you never will. I would have thought the books that I had given you enough to figure it out. Ah well. That isn't why I came to you; to give you another boring lecture. I came to you… To tell you that you are to succeed me as the High Inquisitor when I am gone."

Whitemane nodded her head dutifully. "As you wish, master. I will try my har-"

! The bellow of a rams horn shook the air over the camp with its mighty tone. The two priests instantly snapped upright, both slightly startled, and in anticipation. It was the call for battle. Whitemane and Fairbanks looked at each other regretfully. Their conversation would have to wait. The two quickly returned to their tents, each grabbing any last items they needed for battle, such as Whitemane's staff, and rushed to the meeting grounds to join up with the rest of the Crusade.

The army was arrayed for battle by the time the two joined with the massive army. Soldiers armed with swords and crimson shields, fighting alongside mounted horsemen whom had the side banners of their steeds painted with the same crimson hue to form a ocean of red. An ocean of blood. At the front of the army rode the Grand Crusader, mounted on a dashing white stallion, bread for battle.

He rode past the ranks of soldiers, a proud look in his eye. It was a moment of triumph for him! He spoke as he rode past the gathered legion of crusaders.

"MEN!" he bellowed out, his massive voice passing over the cloud like a might wave of power. As he spoke, Whitemane's breast swelled with pride! It was finally going to happen! At long last, the undead were to be driven from her homeland. Her world. It was the culmination of her dreams, the very reason she had joined the Crusade. "We all have lost something to the undead; lost out lands, our homes, our loved ones! We have given up whatever hope we have for living in peace, because we know that rolling over and letting the Scourge have its way with us is no better then being in a living death. We will not let our homes, our lands, our very world suffer at the hands of this menace! And today, we are strong enough at last to hold true to our vows as crusaders! There are two strongholds of undead within Azeroth. The foul lair of the Forsaken whom make their home in the sewers of what was once our kingdom, and this place that lies before us now. We will charge into Stratholme. We will smash through their barriers and their defenses. We will ride them underfoot, their skulls shattered by our might. For Lordaeron! For the Crusade!" he yelled out as loudly as he could, a steel blade raised high over his head.

"FOR LORDAERON! FOR THE CRUSADE!" bellowed back the gathered army as they raised their own swords and shields high into the air, clambering them loudly in response. Whitemane herself yelled and cheered, swept up in the moment. As she cheered, faint wisps of shadow and darkness flowed softly around her eyes as a faint voice whispered softly in her heart, encouraging her ever so softly to cheer along.

Beside Whitemane, Fairbanks stood. Unlike his companion, he did not cheer or yell out. Instead, he only softly looked at the ground, a tear running down his cheek. No shadow crossed his face or whisper commanded him to cheer. Only grim acceptance that this was the fate of the Crusade.

After a moment, the Grand Crusader lowered his sword to point towards the ruined gates of Stratholme as his voice bellowed out. "For Lordaeron! For the King! For Justice!" he yelled as he kicked his steed into a full-charged gallop. Behind him, all those who had been gathered to fight surged forwards as a mighty power behind their leader.

The Crusade charged forwards, surging past the twisted and rent iron bars that had once been the gates to the mighty walled city, passing into the interior without so much as a hint of resistance. However, once inside, it was a different matter all together.

A row of abomination stood ready, their three thick and massive arms of putrid flesh grasping axes laced with green bile. Their hulking forms cluttered the ruined streets, blocking off and further progression as, behind them, several lichs and armies of ghouls and skeletons stood ready to charge forwards. With a powerful lions-roar, the Grand Crusader lowered the point of his sword to face the mass wall of undead that stood, blocking the roads. With a mighty clash of axe upon shield and sword upon rotten flesh, the battle was joined.

The howl and screech of the undead ghouls as they wove in and around the massive abominations and the howl of frozen lances of ice shooting by overhead mixed with the shout and yells of the Crusade soldiers and the whinnying of horses as they pounded against the forces of the Scourge with the soft and divine sound of the holy light pouring out from their priests onto the battlefield below, both in healing and smiting.

As soon as the battle was joined, from the ruined and rotten houses that lines the streets poured out scores upon scores of undead, falling in among the priests. With a roar of slobber and mindless rage, three of the ghouls leapt at Whitemane as she focused on healing several other soldiers, her lips slowly and softly moving in a divine hymn to bring ease to their warring bodies. The trio fell upon the priestess, knocking her to the ground and forcing the hymn to become interrupted. The ghouls raised their claws overhead, trying to smash down upon the priestess only to be halted as Whitemane spoke a word of power, causing the light to form into a shield around her body, protecting her from their harm.

"Foul beings of lecherous life! You are naught but a mockery of the truth! A perversion of that which is divine! We will smash your forces underfoot and grind your bones into the very dust under the disembodied heads of those whom you worship!" she hissed back as her hands glowed with the soft light of holiness. A wave of light erupted outwards from Whitemane, driving the undead back as the holy energy washed over them, painfully destroying their bodies with its power. The monsters fell to the ground, writhing and hissing in their unholy pain and suffering as Whitemane got up and calmly strode over to them.

"You are beings unholy. Stand before the power of the divine and be judged!" she said firmly as she raised her staff high into the air, aglow with the divine wroth of her fury. Overhead, heavenly fire poured down from the sky. It washed over the ghouls as it's golden fury poured down, burning and charring the very stone under their bodies. The ghouls gave a final scream of pain before they too became little more then charred markings upon the streets.

"The light has spoken. You are unworthy." She said simply as she turned back to the main battle. The Abominations were already faltering against the sheer might and force of the Crusaders fury, and it was not long before a mighty cheer arose from the gathered forces as the last of the horrid monsters faltered, allowing the forces of the Scarlet Crusade to blast through and progress to the town square.

"Whitemane! Fairbanks!" the voice of the High Crusader carried well over the din of battle. "You two! Let us head to the town hall and purge it from the grasp of this undead menace!"

"What? But we have-"

"It will be fine Whitemane. He is the Grand Crusader. He knows what he's doing. Follow him."

"As you command!" she replied, her voice and tone changing ever so softly as the dark fires rose around her eyes. Fairbanks thought the order suspicious as well. He knew his power and he knew Whitemane's power as well. They could handle odd groups of ghouls, but not whole masses as would undoubtedly be found within the confines of the city hall. Never the less, the pair hurried over to the Crusader, following his orders as they headed towards the town hall.

No undead could be seen in the streets as the pair walked. Whitemane would have liked to think it because the Crusade had wiped them off, but the forces had not yet reached these streets and rows. Off through the smashed doors of houses, she could see the yellowed glint of undead eyes, watching from their hidden places. Too afraid to attack the trio as they progressed.

The town hall itself was in a similar state of decay and rot when the trio arrived. Once proud and well-crafted timbers were now little more then rotten and worm-eaten pillars as, inside, the stench of death filled the air even heavier then the city surrounding it.

"High Crusader." Said Fairbanks. "If we head inside that place, we won't walk out alive. It's a deathtrap! A place so filled with undead that we cannot hope to succeed."

The Grand Crusaders turned his mount about to face the High Inquisitor.

"Why, my dear Fairbanks. That's exactly the point. Ever since that day when I took over this corpse of a man and became your leader, you and those whom have refused to bend to my will have stood in my way. Blocking my armies. My dream!" he said. Gone was the voice of the High Crusader and in its place was the voice low and guttural. The voice of a demon.

"Few of your kind still exist within the Crusade. Few of you so strong within the light that I cannot subjugate you to my cause. Fairbanks, Fordring, Abbendis both father and daughter. I have had no choice to put up with your preachy mannerisms and divine cause. But no longer! Your replacement is here, your time has come Fairbanks."

"Fiend! You are the scum of the earth!" replied Fairbanks, his hands already glowing softly with the light. "You are a demon and a shame! You have done naught but prey upon the desires of man to further your own personal need! You deserve to be utterly destroyed!"

The Grand Crusader laughed softly.

"What do you think of this, Sally?"

Fares of shadowed magic and dark power flared from Whitemane's eyes as she stood behind the man who was once her mentor. Her own staff lowered to point at Fairbanks.

"I am the sicion of light, and the Crusade is the harbinger of justice against the undead. To stand against the Grand Crusader is to stand against the Light. To stand against the light is to stand against the Crusade and justice. To stand against those, is to be undead. All Undead must be judged by the divine wrath of the heavens! You are undead Fairbanks, and thusly you must be judged by the divine!"

"No… Sally… I taught you better then this…" said Fairbanks, his voice full of regret. "But if you will willingly side with a being whom subjugates others to his will for the betterment of his own desires, I have no choice but to stand against you. Come, let us see which of us is the true High Inquisitor of the Crusade."

Under his breath, he whispered in a faint voice. "I'm so sorry Sally."

The demon laughed, his powerful voice echoing through the jaws of the body of the Crusader. "Fight! Fight! Yes!"

Whitemane wasted no time. The air in front of her split open as a smite spell rent the very air where Fairbanks stood. A single word of power escaped from Fairbanks mouth, calling upon that same power that Whitemane so enjoyed using to form the familiar shield of the light between him and her. The Smite spell flared as the shield glowed as the two spells collided. In the end, however, Fairbanks's shield was far too powerful to be rent with just one attack from Whitemane.

Fairbanks's hands glowed with the light once again as he clapped his hands together, causing a nova of the holy and divine energy to erupt outwards. Whitemane copied her mentor in perfect fashion and called upon the power of the light to form a protective barrier around her body. The nova flared around her form, the shield cutting a wake through the divine energy like a rock in a stream.

Fairbanks did not wait to give the woman a chance, and started casting his next spell almost instantly. Whitemane screamed out in pain as he finished the casting of the spell. He was burning her mana off of her body before she could use it, and it felt as if her very soul was on fire! She screamed and writhed in pain, falling to the ground on one knee as Fairbanks darted over to one of the rundown houses, severing one of the timbers with two well-placed smites. He picked up the part that had been severed and turned to face his apprentice. With the shaft of lumber in hand, he charged forwards at her, muttering a spell under his breath to cause the shield to disperse. Whitemane, still in the throws of pain from the burn, was unable to speak or attempt to stop the spell as her shield suddenly ceased to exist, leaving her wide open for Fairbanks's charge.

He brought the massive shaft of lumber about in a wide, sweeping arc. Whitemane's eyes shot wide open in terror as she desperately tried to raise her barrier again. The shaft of lumber smashed into her side, shattering at least two of her ribs with the massive blow and sending Whitemane toppling backwards. She screamed in pain, but as Fairbanks charged in again to hit her, she gritted her teeth and muttered a spell as fast as she could as a heal spell surrounded her body, mending the ribs and bruised flesh as she quickly rolled to the side as Fairbanks brought the timber down again on the ground where she had been standing.

As soon as she was up, Whitemane's own hands glowed once again as she rent the air where Fairbanks stood, causing him to stumble. Fairbanks muttered his own spell of healing, mending what flesh had been hurt before he came at Whitemane again. Whitemane tried to step backwards, but her heel slid into the grating of a sewer, trapping her in place as Fairbanks descended on her again with the lumber shaft. Whitemane called forth on the power of the light once again, forming the shield around her body to protect her from Fairbanks's assault. The shaft of lumber smashed into the shield, sliding down to the side as Fairbanks stepped over the priestess, trying to force her to the ground.

Sally cast her next spell, calling upon the divine flames of the heavens. The holy fires poured down from the heavens, flowing around the pair and melting the grating underneath the pair, causing them to drop down into the sewers below.

Whitemane splashed into the putrid and infested waters as Fairbanks fell a short distance away, any damage dealt by the holy flames extinguished upon contact with the water. Fairbanks rose up from the sickening waters. He raised his foot above the surface of the sewers and called upon the power of the light. He stood upright, his feet hovering just above the surface of the water. Whitemane stood up as well, but unlike her master, she had not learned that spell as of yet, leaving the woman low and wet.

The dark magic that lined Whitemane's eyes flared and grew larger, bolstered by the ambient shadow around her as well as the desperation for victory that she so desperately desired. She raised her hand to point at her mentor, and called for the first time of her life upon the shadows.

"Mind Blast." She said simply. A blast of pure mental energy blasted forwards towards her mentor. It surged into his mind, and started to perform its simple task. Blasting as much of the mans mind as it could. Fairbanks screamed again, losing his balance as he hovered above the water and toppling into the sewer as his mind felt as if it was erupting in pain. Whitemane strode forwards, her legs cutting through the infested waters.

"All who stand against the Crusade are undead, Fairbanks." She said as she grabbed the scruff of the mans neck. "Undead. Undead. Undead! Undead! UNDEAD!" she screamed again and again as she thrust the mans head under the water, smashing it against the bottom of the sewer as the man struggling, trying to find the lumber that he had held in his hand before falling.

"UNDEEEEEAAAAAAADDDDD!"

She screamed as loud as she could as she held Fairbank's head under, her fingers biting into the man's neck as the darkness that surrounded her eyes flared and grew greater and greater until, at last, she felt the muscles in Fairbanks's neck go limp as his body ceased its struggles. She let go at last, and watched the corpse drift slowly down the sewer and out of sight.

She clambered up a nearby ladder, returning to the surface world, the darkness still flaring in her eyes.

"Well done Whitemane!" bellowed the demon Crusaders. "With his death, the last of the priest order whom have refused to bow to me has been cleansed. Our hour draws nigh. The undead have been driven back from this part of the city and Fairbanks is dead. All goes according to plan. Now… Sleep my minion. Rest… And forget about all that has happened."

"Unnnnnn…" Moaned Whitemane as she toppled over on her side, the darkness vanishing from her eyes, replaced by the gentle soft comfort of sleep. The Grand Crusader strode over to her body, picking her up and placing her on his steed.

"MEDIC! I NEED A MEDIC!" he called out as he rode back to the forces of the Scarlet Crusade, his puppet nestled firmly in front of him, sleeping softly and blissfully unaware of her mentor's death.


	4. Chapter 4

Whitemane was resting softly in her own private chambers within the halls of the Scarlet Monastery. The hallowed halls with their massive pillars of stone that she called home once again surrounded her. Yet they felt different, empty. Fairbanks was gone. Her master was dead, and the void where he had once been was there.

No longer did the soft and wise words of wisdom that came forth from his mouth fill the halls with his older voice, or his firm hand of guidance rest upon Whitemane's shoulders. Gone were the soft and loving hugs he bestowed upon her. In their place a simple plaque was now bolted onto the wall of the chamber where Whitemane now made her home.

She looked up at the plaque as she rested, her back lying upon the stone cold floor lined with soft pillows of silk and shelves of books, all of them too advanced for her to read. She was the High Inquisitor now. It was all she wanted; to be the leader of those who fought against those who had taken those lands that belonged to mankind. Yet now, it felt so lonely. Now… All she wanted was Fairbanks back. Fairbanks…

Her eyes became lined with the silvery sheen of a tear as her thoughts tried to leave her master. But it was impossible. Lining the room which now belonged to her were rows of flowers, each possessing a tag around the steams of the flowers with heartbreaking letters of fairwell for the beloved priest. A black shawl and specially designed black outfit, identical to her normal dress aside from the color, hung in a nearby closet, swaying back and forth softly as soft breezes flowed through the room. Resting upon her belly, clenched between her fingers, was a letter. The seal from the High Crusader had been torn through not with the grace and ease of a letter opener, but cut hastily with a anxious fingernail. Inside it acknowledged the death of the man who had been Whitemane's mentor, a hastily scrawled apology and explanation that Fairbanks had been lost when a feral ghoul tackled him down into the sewers to his demise, and a paragraph later informed Sally that she was to step up to take the role of High Inquisitor.

When she had received the letter, she had still been recovering in the infirmary from when the High Inquisitor had carried her back to the army. That had been three weeks ago. The letter still remained, now tattered and crumpled in her hands. She was too tough a woman to cry herself to sleep, but for the first time in her life she wished she could do so.

Outside, the evening sun slid behind the curve of the earth, it's reddened light cutting into the room through a open window. The soft howl of the nightly winds blew in, causing the priestess to take her first, and likely only, action of that day. She stood up, her legs uneven and her steps lopsided as she made her way to the window in her room. For a moment, she looked out over the walls of the monastery. The setting sun caught it's rays in her eyes, filling the stopped tears with it's ruby light and causing her eyes to seem to shimmer as if lined with blood. She looked into the edge of the disk of silver that now slid beyond the limits of her vision, almost as if questioning the light cast from its body.

She reached out to grab the black iron knob that functioned as the handle to her window and started to pull it shut, sliding it in and over the heavy stone and closing herself off to the outside world once again. Then, with uneven step, she walked over to a bed wedged away in the curve of the room and flopped down onto the mattress, her head buried in the pillow as she did her best to forget just long enough to pass through the night.

The room around her grew dark with the night sky, illuminated only softly by the glow of the stars and moon above. The noise outside of the crickets chirping away through the stillness of the night masked the sound of the window she had closed being pried open by determined hands. Only the soft noise of a breathless drop down from the windowsill rose above the ambience of the night. Not enough to stir Whitemane from her remorse.

A soft finger sliding across the small curve of her lower back was the first sign she was not alone. A moment later, a firm hand rested upon her shoulder, gripping it softly. Whitemane's body went taught, the very hairs on her skin and head standing rigidly on end as she realized she was not alone in her own chambers. Her head lifted up from the pillow, uninhibited by the stranger. She slowly turned about, rising up to look at the intruder.

She could not make out his features well in the dark, but she did not need too. She could see the outline of the man, highlighted against the stars. The soft and firm build of his body and the sheen of the starlight glinting off the bald spot of his head and illuminating the dark hair that hand not yet fallen out. That, combined with the manner of just how he had touched her, how he had rested his hand on her shoulder, told her all she needed to know. Her face light up as she pitched herself forwards, embracing the man in a massive tackle-hug as she screamed out his name in joy!

"FAIRBANKS! YOU'RE ALIVE!" she exclaimed as loudly as she could, a wide smile covering her face as she tackled the man firmly to the ground. She happily rubbed her cheek against the mans chest as her cheeks turned a soft pink.

"They told me you were dead! They told me a ghoul tackled you down into the sewers! They tol-"

Then the truth slammed into Whitemane like a ton of bricks. A heavy stench had entered into the room, the stench of foul sewer water and death. Fairbank's body was not dry or cleaned, but rather covered from head to toe in the foul-smelling concoction that had brewed down under the city of Stratholme. His skin no longer felt alive, but instead was waxy to the touch and starting to rot through in places. Worst and most definitive of all, no heat came from his body.

Yet the man still moved. Whitemane could feel the muscle still contracting and stretching in places as Fairbanks slowly sat upright. As his face slid into the light of a moonbeam, it reflected a clouded over, dead eye instead of the bright eye of life. Almost as fast as she had become overjoyed, the blood drained from her face once again. Fairbanks was not back. Not back at all.

"Sally…" whispered the corpse of her mentor, his dead eyes looking with a lifeless stare into her own. "I've come back Sally… Back. But not from the dead. I'm sorry… I… I tried my best, Sally."

Whitemane bolted upright, shoving her monster of a mentor back down to the ground as a repulsed and revolted look replaced the one of joy and shock. Her hands glowed in the soft light of the divine as Fairbanks was pushed to the ground.

"You are a foul being of death and damnation!" she hissed, her teeth gritted in rage at the mockery of what had once been her teacher. "You're nothing more then a foul mockery of a man I once called teacher! A great man! A honest, pure, clean man! A better person then anyone I know, even myself!" she screamed. Hot tears streaked down her cheeks, staining them with their dampness as Whitemane's eyes closed shut, too infuriated at the monster to even look at him! "And what have you done? You've become something that… That I cannot even describe! A monster! A demon! A eater of children and devourer of all that is good! May the light damn your soul to the deepest reaches of Hell!"

She opened her eyes to look at the man as her hands glowed with a white hot blaze of holy power that illuminated the room with it's golden light. Through tear-blurred eyes, she could see the abomination before her. He was sitting, her head turned down to the ground in shame as he bowed before her wrath. He could not cry. Being undead prevented the shedding of tears. But it took no need for interpitation of what he was doing. She looked down at him, at her master, intending to smite him down to the ground with her fury.

"I'm sorry Sally… I'm so sorry for failing you… Go a head, burn me in a Holy Blaze… I forgive you."

She intended to do just so. She could not let this man live. He was an abomination, a mockery, a fraud… He was… He was… Fairbanks.

The light in the room dimmed as Whitemane fell to her knees, her hand reaching out to his cheek, still aglow with the divine light. She touched it softly, her face covered in emotions she didn't know how to express or name.

"You don't deserve to live! You don't! You don't!"

Her hand slid across his neck, brushing into the marks where her hand had grasped his neck and drowned him.

"You're undead! All undead are enemies of the light! You don't deserve to live! You deserve to be judged by the light and destroyed!" she said, her sobs clouding her voice. At last, the light in her hand faded as her head came forwards to rest against Fairbank's forehead.

"The light has spoken." She said in a weak voice, laced with the soft sound of her crying. After a while, what seemed and felt to be a hour, she stood up. She couldn't abandon him. He was her master. He was her friend. He was Fairbanks.

She grabbed his clammy hand with her own and pulled him upright to his feet. She quickly pulled him along over to the bookshelves and quickly pried one forwards just enough for Fairbanks to hide behind.

"Hide here for now. Don't worry. I will protect you and keep you safe! Tomorrow, I will order a addition to be built onto the side of one of the chapels and I'll hide it so that you can stay there." She said as she pushed him behind the shelving. When he was behind the shelf, Whitemane quickly ran around to the front side and pushed it back, evening it out so it wouldn't be noticed before she slumped to the floor, looking to the heavens. She felt lighthearted, as if she was somehow down a path to redemption.

"I will make sure this undeath… This plague… This Scourge is defeated!"

"And anyone who stands in your way. Anyone at all, is someone who wants that plague to persist. Someone who wants it to remain. Someone who wants it to last forever and plunge the world into the peril of the Scourge."

_This marks the end of the original, core, story. I plan to continue and expand upon this post though and, hopefully, will have a new segment up next week!_


	5. Chapter 5

_OOC: Before I begin, allow me to explain the delay. It's quite simple really. When I promised to update every Wednesday, I didn't think about college finals. I took time off so I could focus on my finals. With that said, let's get back to the story!_

IC: The thick and heavy stench of a thousand books and tomes permeated the air about Sally like a thick fog. As the scarlet priestess strode through the hallways of the library wing, she could not help but feel slight agitation. On either side of her body, shelves that stacked all the way up to the ceiling, filled to the brim with books written in scripts and languages she could not even begin to hope to comprehend seemed to taunt her. Unwilling to not only mock her with the visual appearance of their difficult letters, they had taken to filling the air about her with their smell.

Whitemane didn't like that. Raising the hem of her priest robes to her nose, she frowned as she strode past the shelves and piles of books strewn about on the few benches that separated them to provide a place for the scholars of the Crusade to sit and read in peace. As if to only add to the agitation of the sight and smell of so much knowledge which she could never hope to grasp, several of the scholars were about, books in hand, watching her with curious eyes as she strode past them. She could hear the muttered whisperings of the people, curious as to why she was there in the first place. Sally couldn't even remember having seen half of them before, despite preaching every Sunday morning at the mass.

As she strode past them, one of the scholars decided to approach her, tome held open. "Excuse me!" he called out, his voice strong despite the respectful quietness that the others of his kind had given her. "Madame High Inquisitor! Can you help me solve a puzzle upon which my fellow students and I have been working on?"

An audible groan slipped from Whitemane's lip as a thick scowl lined her face. She could turn the man away with little more than a word, send him to another, more knowledgable, priest. Yet as her lips started to form the words to refuse the man, a faint choir of sinkers came from behind her back. They knew she would refuse, unable to answer the question.

"May I remind all present here that Sunday mass is required by the command of the High Crusader?" she said, speaking not to the man before her but rather to those behind her. It didn't matter. Almost instantly the people became quiet as the man before her quietly turned his head aside, retracting his question. A faint surge of pride at the handling of the situation surged through her body, causing goosebumps to ripple over her flesh and the stench of tome to lessen considerably. Was this what it felt like to have power? A faint smile crept over her face as she continued on.

Two heavy doors, carved of oaken wood, stood at the far end of the Library wing. Despite their size, Sally was capable of easily pushing them aside on their well-oiled hinges. Just beyond a wide and circular room, its floor cluttered with piles of books, greeted her. Striding between the piles of books with the upmost ease was the man Sally had come to see. Upon her entry the man, tome in hand, closed his book and greeted her.

"Ah! High Inquisitor Sally Whitemane." he said, bowing in greeting. Sally gave a slight curtsy in response.

"Arcanist Doan." she said in reply.

"I trust that my library has suited your needs and desires? It is one of the greatest repositories of knowledge in the entire Eastern Kingdoms. Only the mage libraries of Dalaran and the Dwarven archives can compare to the knowledge we have stored here. I can see the scowl on your face though, child. You disapprove?"

Sally looked down, a vein visibly pulsating on her brow, as she picked up a tome from a pile beside her. Holding it out before her like a rat being held by its tail, she gave a visible look of disgust.

"Put that down right now! Do not defile these books!" cried out Doan, almost leaping across two other piles to snatch the tome away from Sally.

"My reading skills are poor at best, Doan. It would take me days to read one page, and I would only understand half the words if even that. Never mind seeking out what it is that I desire."

The Arcanist did not even look at Sally as he caressed the tome like a small child, examining the place where Sally had held it as if it had been bruised. "What is it you required of my library, _master?"_

Sally winced as the venom in the Arcanist's voice stabbed into her. How could a man care so much about his books as to deliver such a remark to someone for simply holding them? She shock her head in disapproval. "I need information. Very particular information at that. I seek to find a way to remove the curse of undeath from a person."

A cold shudder passed through the Arcanist's body. With a slow, measured motion he placed the book down. "To cure undeath? To seek a way to cleanse the tainted? Such beings can not be redeemed, Sally Whitemane. They can only be granted mercy."

Sally's head hung in acceptance. It was true. Every tenant, every reason she had become a crusader, everything she had done… had been according to that creed. To betray it was to betray herself. What had she been thinking? Had she been so obsessed with her former master as to-

Plumes of dark and shadowy magic burst forth from Sally's eyes as the priestess suddenly stood tall and straight upright. "I did not ask for your opinion, Arcanist." she hissed, her voice laced with shadow. "I gave you a command, and you will follow it!"

Fury burned across the Arcanist's face as he turned about to face Sally. "You would defy the Crusade? You would force me to accompany you on your blatant heresy? I should burn you down right where you stand, High Inquisitor! You are a undead sympathizer!"

"So go ahead! Do it!" said Sally, the plumes of shadow growing wide. Swiftly, she bent down, picking up three books before moving over to stand between two other piles. "Burn me down as the heretic I am! Refuse me and I shall call down Holy Fire to reprimand you for defying me! I won't kill you, but I cannot guarantee that the fire will burn only you and not your books. Or you can accept, and walk away with your books."

A tense moment passed by as flames kindled in the hands of the archaist, followed by the hum of a arcane spell being prepped, then nothing as he hung his head in defeat. "Leave me. I will contact you when I have something." he said glumly, turning about.

After Sally had left, Doan slumped down, his body sliding against the books. Opening the tome in his hand, he looked at the covering. Gentle words, written in loving penmanship, lined the inside cover.

_To; My father._

_I wish you a happy birthday from Lordaeron. The trade stall is needing my attention full time of late, so I am sorry I could not come and see you at the monastery for your birthday. I bought this with my money. Have a happy birthday father!_

_Love, your little girl, Felicia Doan._

"I miss you so much." he said, closing the cover and holding it to his chest tightly. Beside him three other books lay with their covers open, each inscribed with the same loving handwriting. These were the rarest and most valuable books in all of Azeroth in Doan's eyes. He could not risk letting them be destroyed. "I'm sorry Felicia."


	6. Chapter 6

Cold. Abyssal. All surrounding. Omnipresent darkness surrounded Sally, it's chill bite ripping into her body as its vile power flowed over her prone form, enveloping her in shadow. Though her eyes were open, there was nothing for her too see. Nothing for her to taste. Nothing for her to smell. Nothing for her to hear. Only the cold chill of the void confirmed that she even existed; and the void was vile. Everywhere it touched, it felt as if it was sapping her, draining her power, clawing into her. Seeking to envelop something.

"Am… I… Alive?"

Sally did not know whose voice it was that reverberated throughout the darkness. She could not feel her lips move, the breath of her own life sliding over her lips, or even the words passing into her own ears.

"Is… She… Alright?"

A second time the voice came, yet still she did not know if she was alive to answer it. Was she alive? Could she respond? Who was she? Was she… me? Is me… I? Could I be she? Is Sally… I?

A hand moved beside her, slowly rising up, as if pulled on by a string. With a sudden burst of motion, the shadows ripping up, wrapping about the arm and yanking it down. A scream of pain burst through the darkness, causing her ears to rumble and vibrate, the burning fires of pain to ripple across the arm. Blazing light, as bright as the sun, shone forth from Sally's body, burning away at the darkness. Two screams joined where there had been once one as the Light poured forth from Sally's body. Sally's own voice, and that of another being.

"She's coming too!"

The stone-colored walls of the Scarlet infirmary came into focus as the blaze of light died down and the shadows ebbed away. Warm blankets, white and colored with the symbol of the Crusade, covered her body. Beside her two medics stood, staves in hand as they slowly chanted healing spells.

"She's awake." said one of them. Both medics stopped her spell, one going off to tend to those whom had been wounded defending Lordaeron, while the other sat down beside her. For a moment, Sally said nothing, content to simply let the warm breath fill her lungs. She didn't know why, but despite the blankets, she felt oddly cold. After a moment she felt her strength had returned and sat upright.

"What happened?" she asked, unsure of how she had ended up within the Scarlet Infirmary. The last thing she could recall, she had been within Arcanist Doan's chambers within the Library, asking about a cure for the plague. She didn't remember Doan's answer, or what had been said, only that she had been there.

"The guards found you passed out, High Inquisitor, outside the entrance to the Cathedral Wing. The last people to see you well were several of the library scholars. They said that you were walking away with a furious and vaguely predatory posture in your body, as if you were a ravenous wolf, and muttering words in a language that they could not identify. We believe you had a seizure. Have you been getting enough rest? Have the stresses of the High Inquisitor become too much for you?"

Sally shot the medic a sour, indignant, look; insulted to be even asked such a question. "Stresses? The only stress I have suffered from my position is the stress from the undead that surround us every day and how unwilling people are to follow! It is just so… Urrgh!" She reached down and picked up a small cup of water that had been placed beside the bed and flung it as hard as she could against the wall. The cup shattered, sending water splattering all over the wall. Two droplets sprung back into her face, stinging into her eyes. Sally squeezed her eyes shut as she tried to rub her eyes. Then, she stood up, being careful as her vision blurred from her self-inflicted pain.

"I… Need to be alone for a bit." she said before retreating to her private chambers.

Sally sat down in the posh and empty chambers, the walls bathed in scarlet tapestries and bookshelves, yet her gaze was not focused on their splendor. Instead, it was on her own hands. Her hands that had strangled her own master. Her hands that had been so ready to call upon the divine power to wound the very soul of her own underling.

"What is wrong with me?" she asked in confusion. "I should be fighting the monsters out there. I came here to do that. Yet all I can do is fight my own people."

She bent down, cradling her own head in her hands, letting streaks of tears mingle with the crimson streaks upon her cheeks. "I didn't do those things! I didn't want to hurt anyone! I…"

Had she hurt anyone? Fairbanks… had…

Pain suddenly lanced through Sally's head as demonic shadows suddenly swirled about her. Etherial claws suddenly dug into her shoulder as the grinding of foul lips stained her ear, whispering, feeding, overwhelming her. Fairbanks had defied orders! He wanted the Crusade to be weak! He wanted to spare people whom would have become undead! He wanted the Scourge strong and the Crusade weak! He was a traitor! Doann was a coward! Unwilling to expunge people because he might lose his precious tomes! Tomes full of useless knowledge! He was useless!

"Useless! Useless! All of them useless!" she screamed in pure fury. "This Crusade is useless! People fighting half-heartedly! Unwilling to die for their cause!" She stood up and kicked the door to her chamber open. Outside, several monks sat upon the Cathedral pews, calmly and quietly offering up prayers to the Light, seeking guidance to spare themselves from the undead.

"You!" she shouted, plumes of foul magic bellowing from her eyes. "All you monks. Arise! Arise and fetch together all these masses! I have an important announcement to make! Do you understand me?"

The monks nodded in submission before rushing off.

"Wait! You two." she pointed to two of the monks whom had been praying side by side. "Come here. I have a special task for you."

_OOC: Once again, I find myself in the position of being delayed on updating. Several months behind on updating. I wish I could make some excuse. It would be all too easy for me to blame my sore lack of updating on the holidays or a lack of inspiration. Alas, I cannot blame either, nor do I desire too. If I did, I would be lying unto myself. Some part of me would know that I could have written the chapter in advance and posted it on the proper day. I have been lazy. I do not seek justification. I do not seek mercy._


	7. Chapter 7

Sally watched in grim revel as the many warriors, priests, and monks of the Scarlet Crusade slowly filtered in to the massive cathedral. She stood before them upon the alter, a imposing figure surrounded by shadow and filled to bursting with zeal for her cause. Before her, on either side, stood the two people. The first, not a monk as she had originally thought, but rather a man by the name of Herod, stood at her right hand while the second, a monk by the name of William, stood at her left. From her position, she could see both with ease, looking down upon them with disdain. Yet, as she looked to her right at Herod, something stirred within her, like a faint memory of a time long-since past. Running through Southshore, chasing after… something. Then turning and fleeing back to her- no. Sally shook her head as shadow flared about her eyes. It was unimportant. Memories of the Past held no place here and now.

"Men of the Scarlet Crusade!" she bellowed out as she stood tall, satisfied finally with the amount of men whom had gathered within. "As you know, we are a beleaguered group of men. Upon all sides we are beset by enemies! To the North, the might of the Scourge threatens to bear down upon us while to the south those who follow the banshee queen, those whom claim to be no different from the Scourge, assail us seeking to throw us from our homeland. Many cowards have fled to the south, to Stormwind, seeking refuge, while those whom fight on in our homeland grow fewer every day. We are surrounded by wolves, but we are no sheep! But this you already know. No… I have called you all together today to talk about something more."

Sally looked down at the two men before her as they looked back. Fear was absent from their eyes, replaced by courage and a desire to fight for their cause, to fight for the Crusade.

"There is one more side from which our enemies seek to assail us from. Yet it is not from the east or the west, or even the heavens above or the earth beneath our feet from which they will come, but from in here!" she clasped her hand to her heart. "Ourselves! How many of you are willing to fight for your cause? How many of you are willing to kill for it? All of you! That is why you are here! To fight for our homeland! To fight the Scourge! But… How many of you are willing to lay down your lives for the Crusade? Who here would run if they knew that death would come for them instead of standing their ground like true soldiers of the crusade?"

A look of bewilderment swept through the gathered people as confused gasps and whispers of doubt circulated among the gathered crusaders. "Can we tolerate such a weakness? Our enemies are many, but the Light that shines forth from us is a force which cannot be matched by their vile arts. Yet even a fortress of gold from which the radiance of the sun flows forth can still faultier if someone extinguishes that sun, even if only in the deepest room of the darkest cellar! It only takes one loose plank to sink the mightiest of warships! One unfastened gate to fell the mightiest wall! One loose lip to destroy an entire nation! You are all willing to live the Crusade! You must be willing to die for the Crusade as well!"

She looked down to the two people whom she had gathered. "Herod. William. Only one of you is willing to make this sacrifice. Which of you is it. One of you must die!"

The two men looked at each other, a look of concern upon William's face, while upon Herod's… a wicked grin and malevolent glare in his eye, like a hound just told to maul a sheep. Herod turned to William as he brought his hands up, massive and strong enough to be weapons in their own right. "So which of us will it be?" he asked as he slowly approached. William looked up at the man, concern turning to outright fear as he stumbled backwards. "Your blood or mine? The lady has demanded it."

"No. This… This is wrong! She's insane!" cried out William as he stepped backwards, trying to get away from the thuggish man. "She's insane! No leader would kill their own men! H-help!"

"See how instead of facing his demise like a warrior of our cause, he turns and flees!" said Whitemane as she watched the pair. "He does not face his challenge, he only tries to wriggle away like a pustulant worm."

As she spoke, her final words were accented by the sound of crushing flesh as Herod suddenly sprung forwards, his right fist striking hard into Williams ribs. The monk stumbled backwards, clutching his chest as burning pain blazed forth within him with every breath. A follow-up blow from Herod issued forth, thundering through the air towards William's head, only to strike void as William swiftly ducked to the side! As quickly as he could, his ribs burning with pain, he darted forwards and away from the mighty warrior. His mind quickly shuffled through his list of magic as he turned about to face Herod again. His hands dropped to the side as flame burst forth, accented with the power of the light.

"Light save me! Light… Save us all!" He said, slowly turning his gaze towards the heavens. Overhead, the clouds above the Cathedral parted as thunder rippled throughout the sky. Then, like a mighty waterfall, flames of pure light flowed down from the heavens above. It shuddered down, striking the roof of the Cathedral with the might of a torrential downpour. The roof over William started to glow white hot as the holy fire poured down, a mighty censure that suddenly burst through the roof and ceiling.

A blinding light suddenly filled the entire Cathedral as the divine flames shuddered down, striking the earth and pouring over William, flowing over his body, consuming him, but not burning him. Rays of brilliant shone forth, striking all within the cathedral and causing them to scream in pain as they covered their eyes from the brightness of the Light. It felt as if it was shining right through Sally, a searing, painful, shining through her that was burning away something within her. Something she could not tell as pain burst through her form, causing her to collapse to the floor.

Then, it was gone. The holy fire, and William with it, gone. Pain racked Sally's body as she struggled to stand, yet somehow, she felt better. Despite that every fiber of her being cried out in agony, she felt as if someone had cut a huge load from her heart and, though not entirely gone, it was suddenly much…

As she clasped the edge of the alter, pulling herself up for support, she looked over the crowd of gathered people, her gaze falling upon Herod. The memories she had pushed asides suddenly flowed forth unfettered. Herod! The bully! He had grown up in Southshore as well! He had pushed both her and the other children around when they had been kids.

"Herod? Why in the Light's name are you-"

Suddenly the massive burden upon her heart returned, and not gently either. It was like having a thousand pounds of blazing hot oil poured into her head, filling it up until it overflowed.

_"NO! YOU ARE MINE! MINE! MY LORD WILL HAVE HIS CRUSADE! HE WILL HAVE HIS ARMY!"_

Sally didn't know if the voice had been inside her head or if she had spoken the words herself. Shadows tried to suddenly form up about her, welling up, trying to cloud the air. Sally screamed in terror as she tried to get up and move, her limbs hurting with every motion, as she clambered down away from the alter, away from her room, to the one place she knew she would be safe. In Fairbanks arms.

_OOC: I do not wish to ask this, but I am afraid my desire for reviews and feedback as to the story and how it is progressing has come to outweigh my desire to stay silent. Please, reviews would be much appreciated, if not posted here than as a e-mail._


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